Page 23 - LonnyQuicke

doesn’t get lost.
BANG! BANG!
The ceiling shudders. Dad sighs.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
It’s Grandad upstairs, banging his walking stick on the floor. Dad keeps threatening to take it away if he doesn’t stop. Says he’ll give him a little brass bell instead. But Grandad said bells are for churches and angels and old-fangled doorways and they aren’t much assistance when you’re trying to get across the landing to spend a periwinkle, thank you very much.
“S’GONE FOUR!” shouts Grandad. “WHAT’RE YOU ALL DOODLING AWAY AT DOWN THERE? WHERE’S MY CUPPA?”
BANG! BANG! BANG!
“WHERE’S MY CUPPA?”
Dad squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep breath in through his nose. “Lonny,” he says, “make your grandad a cup of tea, will you? We’ve got to get these watches finished. Jess is coming to collect them in the morning.”
“Here you go, Grandad.” I push his creaking bedroom door open. The cup of tea – made with our very last drop of milk – slooshes in the mug.
“Lonny! Marvellous.” Grandad’s sitting on the bed. The room smells of shelves that haven’t been dusted enough and floors that haven’t been hoovered enough. “Grand old duke of a job.” He pats the bed
16